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Sing, riding 's a joy! For me I ride.

Robert Browning

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Robert Browning
Age: 77 †
Born: 1812
Born: May 7
Died: 1889
Died: December 12
Dramaturgy
Playwright
Poet
Writer
London
England
Robert Barrett Browning
Browning
Riding
Ride
Sing
Joy

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There is no truer truth obtainable by Man than comes of music
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I am grown peaceful as old age tonight.
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Truth never hurts the teller.
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God be thanked, the meanest of his creatures Boasts two soul-sides, one to face the world with, One to show a woman when he loves her.
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O woman-country! wooed not wed, Loved all the more by earth's male-lands, Laid to their hearts instead.
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Never the time and the place And the loved one all together.
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All will be gay when noontide wakes anew The buttercups, the little children's dower.
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You never know what life means till you die even throughout life, tis death that makes life live.
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Man partly is and wholly hopes to be.
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No! let me taste the whole of it, fare like my peers, The heroes of old, Bear the brunt, in a minute pay glad life's arrears Of pain, darkness and cold.
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You should not take a fellow eight years old and make him swear to never kiss the girls.
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I want to know a butcher paints, A baker rhymes for his pursuit, Candlestick-maker much acquaints His soul with song, or, haply mute, Blows out his brains upon the flute.
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When the liquor's out, why clink the cannikin?
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What Youth deemed crystal, Age finds out was dew.
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Good strong thick stupefying incense-smoke!
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In this world, who can do a thing, will not And who would do it, cannot, I perceive: Yet the will's somewhat — somewhat, too, the power — And thus we half-men struggle.
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Inscribe all human effort with one word, artistry's haunting curse, the Incomplete!
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The devil, that old stager, who leads downward, perhaps, but fiddles all the way!
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Never brag, never bluster, never blush.
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Lost, lost! one moment knelled the woe of years.
Robert Browning